Blowin' Indie Wind

Author: Erika Mercer

"I'm from Chicago, but now I live in the country in a barn." When Andrew Bird, with his tall melancholy stature and moody brown eyes, uttered this sentence from atop the stage at Higher Ground last Wednesday, the simple words sounded profound.

Now, what he meant was that he grew up in Chicago but recorded his most recent album, "Weather Systems," in a converted barn in western Illinois - but explicating it like that is boring. Much better, in Bird's view, to leave us wondering. Why concretize when dreams and mood-scapes are so enchanting?

Bird's newest album follows the same principle. Even if he hadn't told us that he'd recorded it in a barn out in the middle of rural Nowhere, we probably would've guessed it. First of all, with only himself and his violin as company, he really got to know both of them inside and out. So here's my deep statement (of which I'm very proud): "Weather Systems" is a journey into the inner reaches of Bird's mind and the outer limits of a violin's potential.

Let me explain this. I'll start with the violin and get to Bird later.

When we imagine a violin being played, most of us picture the musician standing, eyes closed, with the violin tucked under his or her chin, sawing the bow across the strings. And most of us think we know what a violin sounds like.

Try again. You've only just met the violin. Bird, on the other hand, has made good friends. He's found out that the violin can actually sound like anything from a guitar to a cello and from a drum to a mandolin. At Higher Ground, he proved it, strumming and rocking out on the violin like a guitar, then plucking its strings gently like a mandolin. On top of this, he recorded brief riffs for each different instrument sound, then played them back on loop. In this way, he was able to create layers upon layers of sound, resulting in experimental and lush songs - all originating from one instrument.

Okay, so onto Bird himself. For those of you who aren't familiar with him, let me give you a brief rundown. Bird grew up in the North Shore suburbs of Chicago, started playing the violin at age four, then studied music at Northwestern University. His first major foray into the popular music scene was with the band Squirrel Nut Zippers, a 1920s swing-revival band that got a bit of radio play back in the late 1990s.

From there, Bird formed his own band, Andrew Bird's Bowl of Fire, released two more swing albums, "Thrills" and "Oh! The Grandeur," and then surprised fans with a totally different sounding, more 60s and 70s rock-influenced album, "The Swimming Hour." But now that Bird is on his own, it seems he's no longer interested in recreating old music styles but rather in inventing his own. The result: "Weather Systems."

Talk about shocking the critics. They couldn't stop talking about how atmospheric and ethereal the "Weather Systems" sounds, how lonesome and intimate Bird appears. But come on, folks, we're talking about a guy who willingly secluded himself in a tiny rural valley, turned a barn into a living space and music studio, and wrote music. Can we really be all that surprised?

Listen for a sec to what he has to say about the experience: "Being alone can be quite romantic / Like Jacques Cousteau underneath the Atlantic / A fantastic voyage through parts unknown / Going to depths where the sun's never shone / I fascinate myself / When I'm all alone." These lines, taken from "Lull," the third song on "Weather Systems," epitomize the entire album: lonely, romantic and mysterious.

Throughout the whole album, Bird is tiptoeing his way into the depths of himself, revealing to the listener the "parts unknown," where "the sun's never shone," and making them want to journey further. The songs are at times painfully delicate and introspective, moody and dark, yet not without doses of humor and reminders of mundaneness of life. He croons, "Rambling on rather self-consciously / While I'm stirring these condiments into my tea / And I think I'm so lame / That I think this song is about me / Don't I don't I don't I?"

Honey, the song is about you. And it's beautiful. That's all I have to say.

Oh, and I almost forgot the whistling. Yes, Bird whistles - a lot. In fact, he's quite the expert whistler, perhaps another skill he mastered out in the Illinois wilderness.